


Hate to see you go (Love to watch you leave)

by lorenzobane



Series: Baby got Back [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Harry Potter, Consultant!Harry Potter, Desi Harry Potter, Famous Harry Potter, Fluff, Harry Potter's fat ass, I can not believe I wrote this, M/M, Mixologist Draco Malfoy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Top Draco Malfoy, or is he a hero for hire?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lorenzobane/pseuds/lorenzobane
Summary: Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor, 5 years running. Most charming smile, 5 years running.Yet, no mention of that goddamn, lush, fat, ass.Or: The first time Draco Malfoy sees Harry Potter after the war he notices one very important thing.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Baby got Back [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865857
Comments: 27
Kudos: 482
Collections: Numerous OTPS Infinite Fandoms





	Hate to see you go (Love to watch you leave)

The first time that Draco spots Potter after the war, it is at a Ministry gala. He’s working as a bartender, unfortunately, not attending as a guest. But Draco takes a deep breath and remembers to bide his time. One of his ancestors, Septimus Malfoy, had lost nearly all of the Malfoy family wealth in the late 1700s, forcing his son Cygnus to earn it all back. Remake himself, and remake the family, just like Draco. Today it's the bar-cart at the Ministry, tomorrow it's a meeting with the Minister. 

Or so he tries to remind himself. 

Harry Potter appears eventually, his dark skin standing out among the pale faces swarming the ballroom. He’s built quick and slight and has always been unnaturally light on his feet. Sharp reflexes, paired with swift, precise body movements that look exactly the same as they have for as long as Draco has known him. And as much as it pains him to admit it, he’s known Potter a long time. 

Potter stands nervously, while the hordes of socialites, ambitious politicians and general groupies eye him like a steak. Within moments another dark face appears next to him, towered by a shock of red hair- Granger and Weasley of course. Though, as far as Draco has heard, they are actually both Granger now- Herminone and Ron Granger. Potter looks up at them in open relief, and Draco can’t imagine how little he’s learned to hide the feelings on his face. 

Draco knows he should stop staring, he’s like anyone of these hungry admirers, but he can’t help but be curious, and frankly a little bitter. He watches Potter and his friends have some type of playful argument that Potter loses with good humor, turning around in a dramatic huff. 

And. Okay then. 

Okay. 

When in the name of Merlin did Harry Potter get an ass like that? Tucked into the slacks of his dress robes, it looks almost fake. The rest of his body is so lithe, his face with high cheekbones and his delicate, slender wrists which have always moved with unwavering instincts- and yet, incongruously, an ass that defies the laws of logic and gravity. 

What Draco really wants to know, is when exactly did Potter get an ass like that? He knows lusting after the Savior of the Wizarding World, the Magical Man of Mystery, is so common in the wizarding world it may as well be a cliche. 

Witch Weekly’s Most Eligible Bachelor, 5 years running. Most charming smile, 5 years running. 

Yet, no mention of that goddamn, lush, fat, ass. 

He’s so caught up in the mystery, and frankly trying to tamp down on the overwhelming lust that crashes through him unexpectedly that he almost doesn't notice Potter and the Grangers heading right for him. 

“Malfoy?” Potter asks, stunned. 

Draco takes a deep breath, slides his eyes to the corner of the ballroom where his supervisor is watching him like a hawk, and says, “Hello Mr. Potter. What can I get you this evening?”

Potter opens and shuts his mouth a few times, lost for words, before blurting out, “what are you doing here?” 

“Forming a Dark Arts cult with the bottles of rum,” Draco replies in a dry whisper, making sure his face still has a polite smile fixed on it. 

Potter’s face does something complicated like he can’t decide if he wants to laugh or shake Draco. He decides to laugh, before saying, “I guess I’ll stick with Firewhiskey then.” 

“Oh no, Harry,” Granger the Brain says, her voice fretting. “You’re supposed to be giving a speech on the plight of merpeople who are facing climate change.” 

Potter rolls his eyes, “It’s one glass, Hermione. I’m not going to start doing shots.” 

Draco picks up a glass, and turns to him, “neat or on the rocks?” 

“Rocks,” Potter replies, and Draco has to mask a wince by looking down. The Ministry began springing for the good stuff once it was reported that Firewhiskey was Harry Potter’s favorite. He can’t believe the philistine is ruining it by drinking it over ice. 

“Don’t approve of the way I take my drink, Malfoy?” Potter asks, his alarming eyes gleaming like a cat, though Draco can’t tell in the moment if it is with amusement or hatred. 

Draco shrugs as elegantly as he can with one shoulder. “I have no opinion on how you take your drink, sir.” 

Potter winces, actually winces at that. “Please don’t call me that.” 

“I suppose there is no need to call you sir, Professor,” Draco replies without thinking. 

Potter’s full lips twisted into a smirk of recognition. Now that he’s far enough from the toxic elements of war, he can see his teenage obsession more clearly now- a crush. He wishes he had known when they were in school, might have saved him some time and he could have avoided being a part of a fascist death cult.  
Live and learn. 

“But,” Draco adds because he can never quite help himself around Potter. “I will say that this is Charpentier 25 year, and deserves better treatment.” 

Potter is grinning now, who knew he had dimples. Certainly not Draco, who avoids Witch Weekly covers like the plague when the Most Charming Smile Award is announced every year. He can handle staring at the mass of black curls and sharp green eyes when they are looking determined or heroic… Happy is somehow more startling. 

“Oi,” Granger the Red says. “Are you ever going to let me order?” 

Draco turns to him politely, “and for you, sir?” 

Weas-- Granger the Red also visibly shudders, “okay, you’re right, Harry. That is just messed up. Can you get me a Gillywater Gumption, Malfoy?” 

Draco twists his wand to the Gillywater bottle, causing it to float over to the cocktail shaker, from there he jerks it again causing all of the ingredients to slice themselves, and twirl to the tune of “My Ex-Girlfriend’s a Hag” by Harry and the Potters- a moderately popular song from a few years earlier. 

As soon as the lines of the chorus finish, they swirl into the glass. 

Granger the Red and Potter stare at him, then the glass for a long minute, before the former Weasley says, “that was bloody brilliant.”

“It’s important to have a competitive skill in a crowded market,” Draco says with a smug shrug. He had been inspired by the “mixologists” of the muggle world, who turned presentation and flavor into an art form. And Draco had magic.

Granger the Brain rolled her eyes, “oh, fine. I’ll take a House-elf’s Revenge.” 

Two twists later, bottles of alcohol float into the air and pour the liquid from three feet above. The liquors inside, twisting and dancing around each other, before a roaring stream of simple syrup r\took the form of an elf, and engulfed it all, before laying placidly into a glass. 

“Impressive charms work,” Granger the Brain says reluctantly. 

Draco nods politely, “I've always been good at charms work.”

This is the standard, bland non-answer he normally gave to people when they commented on the quality of his charms. He did this for two reasons, one is that it is a good non-answer. It doesn’t indicate where or how he learned these charms. The second is that he hopes to impress these people with the quality of his magic. With the right luck, one of these days, one of these old men is going to want to have a discussion with him. 

He needs someone to bankroll his business venture. 

However, in this particular moment, with this particular audience, all it does is serve to remind them-- 

“Yes. We remember,” Granger the Red says. “My brother still has scars on his face from how bloody good at charms…” 

“We should go,” Potter says awkwardly, before lightly tugging the two of them away. Draco heaves a sigh of relief, his supervisor, Amelia, had only agreed to take him on, and let him try his cocktails if he promised that no one made a scene. If anyone caused a problem, Draco would have to de-escalate. If he couldn’t, she would take their side and he could never work a ministry event again. 

Not an ideal situation, but he’s loathed to admit, deserved. He knows that the war wasn’t that long ago, and everyone still bears weight from it. 

On the bright side, Draco thought, at least he can look at Potter walking away. It is quite a view. He may be a penniless war criminal, but at least he’s a penniless war criminal who lives in a world where Potter’s pants are one size too small. 

\-----------------

Draco sees Potter two days later at The Blind Dragon. He works there most nights if he hasn’t been able to find Ministry event work. It's kind of a shitty pub, but the owners don’t care what Draco does as long as he is making them money. Tonight’s drink special is a bit of an experiment- Minty Mermaid Breath. A mixture of mermaid tears, gillywater with a firewhiskey wash, so strong it’ll knock your socks off, and cure any cavities. 

“Malfoy,” Potter says as if he walks in every day. 

Draco inclines his head and bites back a noise of surprise. Of course, Potter found him. Of course. Draco is currently in Telford, a small town nearly three hours from London where Potter likely lives. The Blind Dragon is the only wizarding establishment in the entire county. 

“How can I help you?” 

Potter shrugs, “I’m between jobs at the moment and I fancied a pint.”

Draco bit back a bit of hysterical laughter. Between jobs was a very funny way of expressing Potter’s current livelihood as a Hero for Hire. 

Though from every interview he’s ever read, Potter detests that title. Apparently it all began five years ago, six months after the Battle of Hogwarts. Potter got a letter from a group of rebel fighters in Croatia struggling against their own Dark Lord. Theirs was much less frightening, and the trio is able to get him into custody in about half a year. In repayment for what they’ve done, the Croatian government had given them all heavy treasures. And thus began Harry Potter’s Heroic Hotline. Or, as Potter insists on calling it, “consulting.”

Legend has it that after defending a tribe of Bowtruckle against an invading band of Hippogriffs, they gave him their loyalty, and now he has a rotating cast of sentinels guarding his vegetable patch. 

Draco doesn’t hold too much in store by rumors anyway. After all, there was a rumor that Potter time traveled in the third year.

“Fancied a pint,” Draco says with a sardonic smile. “All the way out here?” 

“Well I suppose, Malfoy,” he says, standing in front of the bar. It has always amused Draco that Potter was so short, especially given the intensity that emanates off of him in waves. “I suppose, I was in the neighborhood and fancied a pint.” 

Draco raises an eyebrow, before responding dryly, “in the neighborhood?”

Potter nods, “Yes. in the neighborhood. This is a coincidence.” 

He tilts his jaw up, daring Draco to call him on his obviously ridiculous lie. He’s obviously gone to considerable length to get here, perhaps even taking the Knight Bus. 

“What can I get you?” Draco asks, instead of saying anything. He’s too old to get into fights with Harry Potter, who Draco is not even sure really knows anymore.

Or at least, he definitely doesn’t know him the way he knew the boy he teased about Dementors. Draco wonders if Potter developed that ass in that time he took to transform from gawky teenage boy to living legend. 

“I’ll get the special,” Potter replies. 

Draco hesitates for a moment, “it’s... Well, it’s quite strong. Do you think you maybe want --?”

Potter cut him off, “I’m tough, Malfoy. I can handle anything you can dish out.” 

The sentence was such a raw challenge that Draco couldn’t help but snap his eyes sharply over to Potter who inhaled sharply at the gaze before sliding back into a smirk. 

He takes a breath before sliding his want in a complicated pattern, allowing the elegant, cool blue symphony to rage behind him while he carefully wipes down a glass by hand and places it in front of him, for the liquid to fill. He had it down to a science. 

He then passes it to Potter. 

“It is very delicate work, isn’t it?” Potter asks, before taking a sip. 

Draco nods, “yes. Rather more of an art than anything.” 

Potter smiles and takes a sip. Draco watches as the drink hits his tongue and perks him up, the sharp tang of mint, tempered by the mellow darkness of the Gillywater blend in harmony. 

“This is really good,” Potter says, amazed. “Like, wow. I always figured you’d be a potions master or something, and I guess you are.” 

“In a manner of speaking,” Draco replies, fidgeting. What on earth was Potter doing here?

“It’s nice,” Potter says. “Nice to get away, where there aren’t any paparazzi.” 

Draco nods, leaning forward a little. Potter is a handsome man, with his long lashes, and bright eyes popping on his dark skin. “I’m glad to be of service, Mr. Potter.” 

“So how did you end up here?” Potter says awkwardly, after a moment. 

Draco picks up a clipboard and continues to take inventory while he talks. “After the war, we lost most of the family money in reparations. So, I needed a job- actually the first job I got was at a dodgy muggle joint that didn’t care that I had no proof of existence. Anyway, long story short, found I liked it.”

“I’m… Um, sorry, about the rep--”

Draco cut him off, “I’m not. I guess there are some heirlooms I’m sad we lost, but on a whole, us having to suffer for a few months living under a psychopath was something my father chose and actively bankrolled, and then I chose to follow him. The innocent muggleborns… They didn’t have a choice. They just existed. I’m glad the money’s gone, and I’m glad they made safety nets for magical kids “

Draco feels great finally saying it out loud. It’s something he’s felt for years but has had no one to say it to. His parents ran off to France, his friends don’t speak to him anymore, his life is the patrons of this bar and he can’t say that to them. 

But this feels good, finally telling someone how he feels about it all now. 

Besides, Potter is so famous now, Draco is sure people are randomly confessing things to him constantly. 

Potter doesn’t look like a person who hears things like that regularly though. His mouth has dropped open, slack-jawed. Unfortunately for Draco, he has one of those faces that is cute even when absolutely stunned stupid, 

“Uh,” Potter says, “right. Then. Um… You, we--” 

Draco would love to help him, but Potter’s words are so garbled Draco can’t figure out what he’s trying to say. 

“We should get drinks,” Potter shouts, looking for all the world like he wasn’t completely sure he meant to do that. 

“Are…” Draco doesn’t know how to phrase this without sounding self-deprecating. “Are you sure you, er, meant to do that, just then?” 

Potter’s jaw set, and nods his head, looking like the entire world could try to move him from that spot at my bar and he wouldn’t move. 

“You recognize we can’t get a drink anywhere but here and I already work here.”

“We can get drinks in other places,” Potter replies, a slight pout on his lips. 

“Potter,” Draco beings. 

“Call me Harry,” Potter says nervously. 

“Harry,” Draco, says to placate him, “you know this isn’t a good idea. But if you want to get a drink, I get off in two hours- why don’t you take care of whatever business brought you here and come back then? I’ll make us both drinks.” 

Potter blinks in surprise, “business…?”

“Whatever business you said brought you to the neighborhood,” Draco replies blithely, with the mildest hint of a smirk referencing Harry’s obvious lie earlier in the conversation.  
Potter rolls his eyes and leans his elbows on the table, “oh come on, we both knew that was a lie.” 

Draco raises his eyebrows in surprise, not expecting Potter to fold so quickly, and without any fuss. 

“Still, I have to work,” Draco says gesturing around himself to the mostly empty bar, save a few regulars sitting in the corner doing something that looks slightly illegal. Draco stops short and looks nervously at Potter, who isn’t an Auror but is a general type of do-gooder. 

Potter has the nerve to roll his eyes, “I don’t care if people are breaking the law, Draco.”

Draco can’t help the surprise on his face which apparently just makes Harry laugh. 

“Do you have any idea how many laws I broke? I brewed an illegal Polyjuice Potion when I was twelve… And I’m not sure how to tell you this, but I didn’t try to defeat Voldemort because he violated section 3c of the tax code.” 

Draco can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of him, which causes Potter to stare at him like he’s never seen Draco smile. Which, is unfortunately, possibly true. 

“You brewed a Polyjuice Potion when you were twelve?” Draco asks after he stops laughing. He thinks back to their second year, the fear that invaded the entire school… How confident he had been at the time, how much he had believed that it would be a good thing for the castle to be cleansed. To this day he’s not exactly sure what happened, he heard that Potter and Weasley managed to rescue the younger sister and that the threat had been destroyed but he is curious what happened. 

Potter looks a bit sheepish, “well, you see… At the time, we thought you were the Heir of Slytherin… And well, we only knew one way to question you…”

Draco shakes his head again, “so you… brewed a Polyjuice and, what? Broke into the Slytherin Common Room?” 

“Yes, as Crabbe,” Potter winces at the name but continues, “and Goyle.”

Draco can’t help the amusement rolling through him, “yeah, I suppose you really weren’t meant to be an Auror. They are actually supposed to believe in and follow rules, not take them as general suggestions.” 

“Don’t you have work?” Potter says, changing the subject. 

Draco does, so he leaves Potter to it. Potter pulls out a wad of paper, and a series of photographs but Draco doesn’t ask. He just goes to check on the other patrons who have finally cottoned onto the new person sitting with them. Potter stands out, even if Draco isn’t sure that he realizes that. It might have something to do with the restless, yet silent energy he has. It is no longer surprising to Draco that he managed to sneak into all manner of places- he’s astonishingly capable of being absolutely silent. 

Draco just continues about his day, occasionally observing Potter who clearly has no intention of leaving. 

Though Draco had been watching him for nearly two hours, he’s still surprised when he’s there at the end of his shift. 

“Hey Draco,” Arnold says, finally walking through the door to take over. Draco cashes out, before waving his wand to clock out. 

Potter looks up as Draco waves wand, “so you’re done then?” 

Draco nods, “can I make us something?” 

Potter bites his lip but nods, and Draco makes them two Firewhiskey cocktails without the bells and whistles. Draco is honestly quite tired, after working the event last night which went late into the night and then staying on his feet all day today. He is quite looking forward to sitting down for a moment. 

He can’t quite help the moan he lets out when he finally lowers his stiff body into the chair beside Potter who smiles at him. 

“You know,” Potter says, “I like seeing you this way. I never figured you’d be one for physical labor much, but I like watching you.”

“Ever the voyeur, Potter,” Draco says, taking a bracing sip of his drink. 

“I already said to call me Harry.”

“Harry, then.” They sit in silence beside each other for a beat, before Draco can’t help himself. “So, can you tell me the real reason you’re here, Harry?”

Harry shrugs, “I’m honestly not sure. When I saw you yesterday… I don’t know. You’re so different than I remember, and sometimes I feel like I’m frozen as the boy I was. Five years later, and what am I doing? Going on wild adventures every year? Ron has gone into business with Fred… Hermione is saving England with her legislation and I’m…” 

“A hero for hire?” Draco offers, and nearly winces under the utterly withering glare. 

Harry downs the rest of his drink, “it’s not a real job. I mean, technically speaking I’m unemployed. That’s what I put down on all of my Ministry forms anyway. I just roam around and help people, do some favors, and sometimes people do them for me… It’s not…”

Draco tilts his head, “do you need an office job to be doing something meaningful?” 

Harry shakes his head, “I guess not. I just… How did you get so calm, after the war? It’s like you really found yourself here, three goddamn hours outside of London. Do you have any idea how terrible the Knight Bus ride for that is?” 

“Well,” Draco says fairly, “the Knight Bus doesn’t take three hours.” 

Harry glares, “not the point.” 

Draco sighs, and looks at his own glass. “It was hard. After the war. Almost everyone fled the country, including my parents. The money, obviously, was gone. I didn’t have my NEWTS… So I was just roaming around Muggle London until I got a job. When I was there, I met this guy Randy, an American who fought in a Muggle war. He talked about how he felt and… it helped. Realizing that some of it was just the war, the way I could just blackout for hours, the mood swings… So, I got a Muggle therapist and told her I joined a White Supremacist cult and had regrets.” 

Harry raises his eyebrows, “white supremacist?”

Draco shrugs, “well, I couldn’t exactly say I was a combat veteran, she’d ask about a muggle war which I know next to nothing about. Besides, that is basically what I was. I wanted a band of white, rich, pure men to run the world and have everyone else beholden to them. The Wizarding World isn’t quite as interested in race, but Potter… Surely you, of all people, have noticed that all of the old, powerful Wizarding families were white.” 

“Me of all people,” Harry says sharply, glancing down at his brown hands before looking back up and glaring at Draco. 

Draco rolls his eyes, “that isn’t what I meant. I meant because you’re friends with Hermione Granger, who you well know gets a lot of flack in the press for a lot of unfair reasons… And not all of them are because she’s muggleborn.” 

Harry looks at him for a long time, “wow. You really, honestly have changed. This is insane.”

“Harry,” Draco says, because he thinks he finally sees where the conversation is going. “You didn’t have a lot of changing to do. You had good friends, who fought and sacrificed for the right things. You stood up for people, always. You were always honest, and even now you spend most of your time saving people. I’m not sure what change you think you need to make.” 

Harry shrugs, “maybe some of it is about that. But some of it is… Maybe I’m a bit lonely. And you seemed lonely too. I feel like no one else is lonely anymore, they all settled down.”

Draco nods, because he is lonely. It’s not so bad, after all, he does have big plans even if they’re moving slower than he had hoped. Draco knows he’s going to open his big, beautiful, chic bar one day, and it’s going to be a success. He’s going to open several, and he’ll make the money back and he’ll be better than his parents were. And then their parents were. It doesn’t leave a lot of time to worry about the state of his social or love life. 

“My parents had already been married, had a child, and died by the time they were my age,” Harry says.

Draco shakes his head, “don’t do that to yourself. You also defeated several Dark Lords, I’m pretty sure they were having a hard enough time with one.” 

Harry makes a wheezing sound of laughter, that makes Draco inordinately proud. 

“Do you want to have another drink at my place?” Draco offers before he can think it through fully. 

Harry, for his part, looks up at him with those sharp, gleaming eyes, and nods. “Let’s get out of here.”

Draco remains seated and gestures for Harry to go to the fireplace. He’s not a saint, after all, and he wants a little bit of a view. Harry looks confused but walks towards the fireplace with Draco eventually following- keeping his eyes trained on Harry’s plush ass. 

“Did you really ask me to walk in front of you so you could stare at my ass?” Harry asks over his shoulder, surprising Draco as they both stop in front of the fireplace.

Draco shrugs, slightly embarrassed, “it’s a nice ass.” 

Harry laughs, bright and warm at that. His dimples, which Draco discovered yesterday, are even closer now. The urge to kiss them is stronger than Draco thought it would be, but he locked it to the back of his mind. 

“Geranium Corner,” Draco tells Harry, as he reaches his hand into the bag of floo powder. 

Harry smiles, “you named your house Geranium Corner?”

“You’ll understand when you see it.” 

Draco sighs in relief as soon as he steps out of the floo and into his home. It’s warm in a way that the Manor never was, large plush seats, and quilts. There is a television propped up, and a kitchen. It’s small, and even then it had taken nearly all of Draco’s protected funds to buy it but he had known the second he saw it that he loved it. 

And outside the large windows, a sea of geraniums danced in the wind. 

“It’s beautiful,” Harry says wistfully, looking around the home, his eyes slightly unfocused as if it physically hurt him. 

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, sitting down. Draco waves his wand again and makes the same FIrewhiskey cocktail for them. “Really, this place… It’s perfect.” 

Draco smiles, “thank you.” 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Harry asks. “How are you not even a little mad, about everything.”

Draco shrugs, “I am, a little. I’m not going to pretend I’m happy with everything, that I am glad my parents and friends are no longer welcome in the country they lived in their whole lives… But, well, you saved us all. So, at the end of the day, I’d rather my father be in the Alps than sitting at the dining table with a monster.” 

Harry looks at him, very quiet and very serious. Before he leans over, slowly, giving Draco plenty of time to stop him- and that is when Draco realizes Harry Potter is about to kiss him. 

Draco raises his hand and tangles a hand into Harry’s thick head of messy curls to urge him closer, causing Harry to break into an unbearably shy grin. Draco would like to know how he can be so many incongruous things- shy and warm, while still being sharp and passionate. Lithe, and swift, with an ass that defies all reason. Draco also wants to know how Harry Potter can drift into his life, and completely change it in two days. 

Still, Draco is helpless in the face of Harry Potter and always has been. He slows down though, he’s wanted this in the back of his mind for so long so he takes the moment to savor it. Running his pale finger along Harry’s plump bottom lip, which opens immediately into a startled gasp, Draco can’t help but smirk. 

Who would have predicted that the Savior would be so soft? 

“Kiss me,” Harry says, when Draco spends another minute tracing his cheekbone and the curve of his ear. “Please.” 

“Ever so polite, Harry,” Draco can’t help but tease, finally closing the gap between them. It’s all so much warmer than he imagined. When he thought about it when he was younger, he imagined so much more anger, so much more biting and fighting but Harry is shockingly pliant, happy to give up the fight. 

He loves the feel of Harry’s lips against his, so much larger and thicker than Draco’s own, he moans against the plushness. Draco, with the last moment of thought, gently pulls Harry over him so that amazing ass in on his lap. 

Draco pulls back with a gasp once Harry settles, “before we go any further, I need to know something.”

Harry looks nervous, but nods. 

“Where on earth did you get this ass?” 

Harry looks at him blankly before doubling over into hysterical laughter. 

“I’m serious!” Draco says, laughing too. “I’m serious, I would have noticed if you were walking around with something this amazing in school.”

“Would you have?” Harry asks, teasing. 

Draco nods before he presses his lips to Harry’s neck causing the other man to sigh in pleasure. He even bites down, gently at first, before Harry’s moans encourage him to leave dark splotches on brown skin. 

“Well?” Draco asks, after a few more kisses. “That ass, where did it come from?” 

Harry rolls his eyes, “one-track mind. But, no idea- I guess I was just never eating enough, because once I did… Well, it happened so quickly I have stretch marks.”

He says that last bit self consciously, like he’s embarrassed that even his body had trouble accommodating something that lovely. 

“Well,” Draco says imperiously. “I think what you need is a thorough inspection.” 

He reaches his hands down Harry’s pants, moaning as his perfectly round cheek jiggles slightly in his hands. Draco is now convinced he’s going to die. 

“Draco Malfoy,” Harry says in amused wonderment, “ass man.” 

Draco is not paying attention, instead he turns his attention to Harry’s flank, running his hands down the stretch marks and luxuriating in the feeling of warm skin against his palm. It had been much too long. Draco and Arnold, his co-worker at The Blind Dragon occasionally hook up, but truly nothing like this. 

“May I?” Harry asks, tugging at the base of Draco’s shirt which he helpfully takes off. 

Harry looks at his chest a moment, perhaps looking for scars but Draco knows he’ll find none. Snape was quite talented and had managed to heal them completely. 

“Your turn,” Draco says before Harry can comment, or do something stupid like apologize. 

Harry hesitates, as if self-conscious and bites his lip. 

“Or,” Draco says, “you don’t have to. Obviously. I’m just glad you’re here, with that fantastic ass.”

Harry laughs, “no, I mean, yes. I want to. It’s just… I’m quite a bit more scared than you are. Don’t want you to…”

Harry pauses as if he’s not sure how to finish the sentence so Draco steps in, gently tugging the shirt out of Harry’s grip and pulling it off himself. 

“I happen to love a bad boy, Harry. Nothing sexier than a few scars.”

Harry’s body is beautiful, he’s built for speed. All of his muscles are long and toned, but not bulky, and his abdomen is covered in scars. There is a large circle in the center of his chest, and then there is a lightning bolt shaped scar that bisects it. There are bite marks on his arm, a long thin cut on the other, claw marks on his shoulder… 

Draco never fully processed just how dangerous Harry’s life was. 

“Still sexy?” Harry asks, his voice is snarky, and confident, the way it was when they were kids and people tried to scare him on the Quidditch Pitch. 

Draco looks at his green eyes and smiles, “you have no idea.”

Harry looks taken aback, but Draco decides to distract him with a kiss. He runs his hands up and down Harry’s back, feeling for scars and indentations. For a moment, as insane as it is, he has the desire to know Harry’s body so well he could name a scar blindfolded. 

Harry whimpers against Draco’s lips, and suddenly he wants Harry so badly. He wants to take him to bed, and ravish him senseless. He wants to hear that voice, so often filled with dry sarcasm, rapturous in pleasure. 

He wants to make Harry breakfast the next morning. 

It’s that thought that forces Draco to a halt. 

“Why did you stop?” Harry whines, breathless as Draco pulls back enough to put space between their heated chests. 

Draco smiles and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek. 

“I think,” Draco says honestly because he and his therapist worked a lot on this. Honesty is key. “I think I like you. Not just for tonight, and if you’re amenable to that I would like to make you breakfast tomorrow and take you to dinner sometime. If you’re not… That’s fine, I understand. But I’m not really looking for anything casual.” 

Harry looks at him, his eyes are so soft when they’re stunned and happy and Draco feels the urge again to make him look like that as often as possible. He didn’t realize Harry Potter was capable of such profound sweetness. 

“I think I’d like that,” he says, with a shy smile. “Both of those things, breakfast… Dinner… As crazy as this sounds, this moment is the happiest I’ve been in years.” 

“Well then what am I waiting for?” Draco asks rhetorically, before pressing a firm grip to Harry’s thighs and standing up, causing Harry to cling to him on instinct. “I think I’m supposed to give you a happy ending.” 

Harry laughs, burying his head into the crook of Draco’s shoulder and Draco thinks he’s going to explode. How can one person make him feel so much in such a short period of time? 

On the other hand, Draco supposes, as he carries Harry to his bedroom, they’ve known each other for nearly 12 years. If anything, this might be too slow. 

“Will you fuck me?” Harry asks, straightforward and brave. 

Draco looks at him with a raised eyebrow, before setting him down gently on the mattress. “What do you think?” 

Harry doesn’t answer the question, instead he turns around and presses his shoulders to the mattress while arching back. The view is undeniably spectacular, even more so when he adds a snarky, “Better get to it then.” 

But Draco rolls his eyes and turns Harry back around on his back. “I don’t think we’re in any rush.” 

He kisses Harry lushly, because Harry is clearly the impatient type in bed, and he needs to be slowed down. He presses kisses down his scarred, dark chest paying attention to Harry’s intensely sensitive nipples before continuing down. 

“May I?” Draco asks, breathing on Harry’s pants. Why they’re both still half-dressed is beyond him. 

Harry nods frantically and nearly knees him in the head in his enthusiasm to get his clothes off. Draco burns a little at how eager he is, how much he wants this, and how insane it is for both of them to come together after a decade of knowing each other, and seven years of hating each other. 

Only for Harry to be so goddamn sweet. 

When Draco finally gets Harry’s cock in his mouth it is a relief for both of them, and Harry lets out a long low moan. Draco, for his part, is utterly distracted by getting two hands on those fantastic asscheeks, squeezing and molding them while Harry moans. 

“Are you ever going to fuck me?” Harry asks, sharply as he wriggles. 

Draco rolls his eyes, “it’s called foreplay. Relax, Potter, just enjoy the ride.”

Harry looks at him for a long moment, before he lays back down on his back ready to simply take what Draco has to offer. The show of trust has Draco frantically summoning lube, pressing cleaning and stretching charms into Harry’s skin. 

Once he’s ready, Draco decides to be selfish for a moment 

“Turn around.”

Harry smirks, and turns, resting his shoulders again on the mattress and arching his back. Draco’s eyes follow the smooth curve of his spine, all the way down to where Draco desperately wants to be. Draco is fairly certain he’s going to die, but he eventually presses in, feeling Harry stretch to accommodate him. He grabs Harry’s cheeks and uses them as leverage, each one so thick and grippable that he can’t force himself to let go. 

“Fuck,” Harry says, his voice garbled and breathy, “fuck. I am going to have bruises on my ass tomorrow. Fuck that’s hot.” 

That just drove Draco deeper, until they were both whimpering and close.

Draco finally manages to lean over and get a hand on Harry’s cock, stroking while Harry whines and screams below him triggering his own release. 

It takes them a moment to calm down, Harry turns around to rest his head on Draco’s chest. 

“That was… amazing,” Harry says, nuzzling into Draco’s chest as if he’s trying to figure out a way inside. As if Harry hadn’t been a part of Draco since they first met. 

Draco nods, feeling messy hair against his cheek. The emotions confuse him for a moment, not sure exactly how he got here or how it happened, and maybe even quietly amused by the fact that all he had to do to woo Harry Potter was not be a truly terrible person. 

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks eventually, his fingers tracing a meaningless pattern on Draco’s chest. 

Draco laughs, “how jealous fifteen-year-old me would be right now.” 

Harry laughs too, “yeah? Had a bit of a crush?”

“Honestly didn’t really know it was a crush until later,” Draco answers, stroking his hands up and down the length of Harry’s side, pausing for a moment to grab the curve of his ass, and then sliding back up. 

Harry doesn’t really reply, just shifts so that his face is in line with Draco’s and they can look at each other in the eye. Draco has always liked Harry’s face, he just looks friendly and warm in a way that Draco knows he never will. 

“You know,” Harry says eventually, his fingers now tracing his cheekbones and nose, “when I saw a kid in the muggle world, all of the princes and superheroes in their story look like you do now.”

“Does that make me your knight in shining armor?” Draco asks flippantly. 

Harry smiles, a little sadly. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“Can I ask you a question you may not want to answer?” Draco asks after a calm silence. Harry nods so Draco continues, “what happened between you and the youngest Weasley girl? You just seemed so happy with her, way back when.”

Harry makes a distressed noise and twists himself back so his head is resting on Draco’s chest again instead of looking at him. “She… Well, as you may remember, I fucked off for a year on the run… And, well, she and Neville ended up spending a lot of time working together, helping each other, bonding. By the time I came back, she was in love with him… It was pretty heartbreaking, to be honest with you.”

Draco clutches him closer, “I’m sorry. Though, I am surprised. I didn’t realize anyone could be stupid enough to leave Harry Potter.” 

Harry laughs a little, “it’s okay. It was years ago now, and they’re happy. Ginny told me later… She didn’t want to spend her whole life being the sweet wife waiting for her adventuring husband to return from battle, she wanted to be the one out there not the one waiting. And with Neville, she gets to do that.”

Draco nods, and closes his eyes, ready to drift into a bit of slumber when Harry shakes him awake. 

“What?” Draco asks, a bit exhausted now that he’s finally laying down. 

Harry bites his lip, “what do you think?” 

“About?” 

“My… Uh, consulting.”

Draco raises his eyebrow at the phrase, “Harry, I think there is quite literally no way for you to do anything else. You’re a nosy, specky git and that hasn’t changed. Now tell me, what was that file you were looking at earlier?” 

“Oh, when I was in Greece last year helping out with a mild centaur problem they were having, I met this guy who needed a favor…. Has a Boggart infestation, pretty unusual actually. Don’t usually run into more than one of them, but he’s got 6 living in his basement, turning his place into a house of horrors. I’ll be going over in a week to take a look, maybe get rid of them.” 

“Just a favor, huh?” Draco asks dryly. “He’s not offering you commission? 

“Well,” Harry says, a bit flustered, “he owns an olive oil company and said he’ll give me a lifetime supply.”

“Of olive oil?” 

“The best olive oil,” Harry responds immediately. “It’s all slick… and wet…” 

Harry is smirking at him, looking up through impossibly dark lashes and Draco can’t help but sigh internally. He should have guessed that Harry would be the insatiable type.  
“Well, if you want to go again, you’re doing all of the work,” Draco says, pretending to yawn.

Harry laughs and swings his leg over, so he’s straddling Draco’s body.

“Wait,” Draco says, before gently twisting Harry around he’s facing their feet instead of Draco’s face. 

“Seriously?” Harry asks dryly, looking over his shoulder. Draco is not paying attention though, choosing instead to carefully catalog his stretch marks. “Do you even like any other part of my body?” 

Draco looks up at him with a mischievous smirk, “I mean, you do have beautiful eyes. Now if you don’t mind...“

And when Harry decides not to argue, Draco chalks that up as a victory by itself. 

He may be a penniless war criminal, but at least he’s a penniless war criminal who gets to watch Harry Potter’s fat ass ride his dick.

**Author's Note:**

> ia;sdifajsdf okay, a few things. 
> 
> 1.) I'm sorry, this is so incredibly self indulgent and stupid, but we're in the midst of a global pandemic so I feel like I'm allowed indulgent and stupid 
> 
> 2.) The ENTIRE premise of this fic comes from this kind of silly stereotype in the Desi community. Basically, Telugu girls (girls from a particular region of south India... Not to flex, but I'm definitely a Telugu girl) are known to have big butts. It's just one of those cultural stereotypes, you know? So, my awful, awful brain couldn't help but be like-- if Harry is desi.... does that mean he's got that ass tho? 
> 
> 3.) My personal interpretation of what Harry looks like is basically Shahid Kapoor... Just with glasses and green eyes. Like if you're going to have a Desi Harry headcannon, you might as well commit to giving him a hot Bollywood star look, sorry not sorry: https://cdn.pinkvilla.com/files/styles/contentpreview/public/Shahid-Kapoor-Padmaavat.jpg?itok=U_vViAzx
> 
> 4.) I'm not... Good at writing smut, but I wanted them to have pillow talk, so I just decided we could all suffer together. Because I'm a gentlewoman that way. 
> 
> 5.) I actually have a lot of thoughts about this particular Harry Potter verse, ft. Magical Mixologist Draco Malfoy and Hero For Hire! Harry Potter, where they like hang out with Teddy, or when Draco finally gets someone to bank roll his new bar. So, let me know if literally anyone cares about that?


End file.
